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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763121">Collide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/March_Lion_98/pseuds/March_Lion_98'>March_Lion_98</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superboy (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>2020, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Coming Out, Damijon Secret Santa (DCU), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Here Have Some Whatever-This-Is, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Not Thinking About 2020, Oh And The Villains Are Mostly Just Backgground, Or 2021, Rao Help Us All, Romance, Shipping, Sleepovers, Slow Romance, Some Humor, Teen Romance, Unresolved Tension, for over two weeks straight, until it's not</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:13:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/March_Lion_98/pseuds/March_Lion_98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You know me. I trust you. Why did those words make Damian’s stomach churn? Not that he needed to wonder; less than two hours ago, a powerful psychic meta named Phobia forced him to face the cold hard truth, and it was quite literally a matter of life and death. To hide from it any longer would be to allow it to have power over him, and thus forever admit defeat to any other being who would wield that truth as a weapon against him. He would NOT let that happen. So he needed to confront it for real, head on, as soon as possible. Meaning here, in this apartment, tonight.</p>
<p>The only question was… how?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Collide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/damibirb/gifts">damibirb</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to Queerbutstillhere for beta-reading this!</p>
<p>And shoutout to @damibirb over on Tumblr- this was originally meant as a Secret Santa gift for you, but for too many reasons I was dreadfully late, and I'm sorry, but I worked really hard on it and here it is! </p>
<p>Note: I’m picturing Jon 14 and Damian 17 here, but you can imagine whatever ages you want them to be; even if Jon’s in college, he could still be living with his parents, and hey, Lois and Clark would definitely be the types to show “Twelve Angry Men” to a ten-year-old...</p>
<p>Anyway, without further ado, I hope you'll enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Kent… can I stay at your place tonight?” Robin whispered, barely audible against the wind blasting past them mid-flight. But since he was clinging to Superboy’s back, lips only inches from his partner’s ear, there was absolutely no reason to doubt he was heard-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-no reason, save for the silence that followed. Was that a no? True, it may have been odd for him to ask all of a sudden like that; especially since it’d been a while since they’d done something like that. Not to mention these things were normally planned at least a day or two in advance, with consent from each of their parents. It wasn't a school night, but Jon might still have homework to catch up on. And it’s not like they weren’t already halfway back to Gotham anyway- why turn around now? Damian figured Jon would have every reason to say no. And he would be fine with that; he’d spent many a night at the Manor on his own. He would survive one more. It’s just that, after everything they’d been through that night... he really didn’t want to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then Superboy turned in a wide arc back toward Metropolis, slowing down to savor the city lights for a second. Robin might have smiled if he weren't so afraid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, Dad, I’m home!” Superboy hollered once they’d descended through the skylight. Robin immediately let go, dropped a few inches to the floor, and stretched. Jon glanced around. “Looks like we got the place to ourselves for now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great. I need a shower. We smell like rubbish,” Damian grumbled as he stalked off to Jon’s room to find something fresh to change into.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shook his head, unzipped his jacket, and sniffed. Eugh. Damian was right, he’d need to wash up, too; Plasmus had a way of getting into every crack, crevice, and fiber. But since he obviously couldn’t go first, he’d need to find something to do in the meantime… and it would probably be a bad idea to sit down on the furniture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s stomach growled, so he decided (after washing his hands quite thoroughly of course) to throw together a big bowl of chex mix, then a couple of banana-chocolate milkshakes served in half-pint jars to wash it down. It took a few minutes to find everything he needed and a few more to put them together, so no sooner did Jon drop the straws in than Damian shuffled back to the kitchen, hair still wet, wearing a long-sleeved Green Arrow t-shirt and tightly cinched drawstring shorts, each at least one or two sizes too big for him. Which made him look even smaller than usual. “Washroom's free,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could’ve sworn I had some of his clothes from the last few times, so why’d he need to borrow mine? Maybe he just didn’t look too hard…?</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Thanks,” Jon replied. “I made snacks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Smells good- unlike one of us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I get the hint,” Jon mock-grumbled, heading out of the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll find us some brain bleach,” Damian said, picking up the snack tray. “Any preferences?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stopped in the hallway to think. “Nothing scary, no end of the world stuff... actually, how about no violence period, just to be safe?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian glowered in disbelief from the living room, setting the tray down. “What is even left?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged. “I dunno, comedies? Musicals? Documentaries? Whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twelve Angry Men</span>
  </em>
  <span> is supposed to be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I hear a vote for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Twelve Angry Men?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Damian asked in all seriousness. “The remote has to be around here somewhere…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Couch cracks. And uh, nah, not that sorta mood actually,” Jon replied.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, there it is,” Damian said, fishing the clicker from its customary hiding place. “Guess that rules out classics, too...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever. You know me. I trust you.” Jon went off to get cleaned up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You know me. I trust you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why did those words make Damian’s stomach churn? Not that he needed to wonder; less than two hours ago, a powerful psychic meta named Phobia forced him to face the cold hard truth, and it was quite literally a matter of life and death. To hide from it any longer would be to allow it to have power over him, and thus forever admit defeat to any other being who would wield that truth as a weapon against him. He would NOT let that happen. So he needed to confront it for real, head on, as soon as possible. Meaning here, in this apartment, tonight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only question was… how?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, find anything good?” When Jon finally emerged in his matched cotton pajamas (sure took his sweet time), Damian had made himself cozy on the couch with a fuzzy red blanket snugly wrapped around his shoulders, feet folded under him, still scrolling through categories on Quickflix. He’d already finished half his milkshake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing yet. I tried InnoCinema first but there’s nothing on there that would satisfy your criteria.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Jon dropped down beside Damian on the couch and looked at him critically. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Deadly. Children get a truly shocking amount of violence in their programming. Grimm Brothers </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone...</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. Takes on a whole new meaning coming from you,” Jon remarked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tt." Damian bristled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What for?" Damian asked as he kept scrolling. The Anime section was devoid of anything worthwhile as usual.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I dunno. Still too soon?"Jon said sheepishly, staring at the TV screen but unable to process all the options flipping by so fast.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tt." Damian took a long sip of his shake to dislodge some incorporeal thing stuck in the back of his throat. "I think... maybe it'll always be too soon, so… don't worry about it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don't worry about it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon knew that was a big deal, coming from Damian. He'd always been a little cagey and sensitive whenever anyone else brought up his past, but did he just give Jon a free pass...? Hard to tell. Either way, it might be better not to push his luck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At length, Damian sighed and held out the remote. “You wanna look? I’ve checked everything at least once but I’m coming up empty.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” Jon took it and started scrolling. “I bet I can think of a category or two you haven’t searched...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian cocked an eyebrow at Jon’s first stop. “Romance? Really?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, why not? People connecting over shared circumstances, working out their differences and building a future together? Without killing or traumatizing each other? What’s not to like?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. Just not what I was expecting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon offered the remote back. “If you wanna find something different-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s fine,” Damian jumped to reassure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To say Jon was puzzled would be an understatement. Wasn’t Damian usually more… persnickety, about these things? Snobbishly blunt with snide comments about his taste? Why was he being so nice?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, isn’t this exactly what Jon always wanted from him? Why look a gift horse in the mouth?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooh ooh ooh!” Jon cooed. “Have you seen this one?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pride and Prejudice? Nah, Grayson tried to get me to read the book once, though. Seemed boring at the time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s SO so good though! One of my favs!” Jon gushed. “Like, this really smart girl, Lizzie, right, she and her sisters need to marry for money because they can’t legally inherit anything, and there are no brothers so the family’s gonna lose everything once the dad dies, but Lizzie refuses to marry someone she doesn’t love-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, how is Lizzie considered intelligent if she refuses to do what’s necessary to protect her family?” Damian interrupted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, there it is,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon thought. “I dunno, she reads a lot and she’s great at witty banter, but I guess she’s still a bit of a romantic?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tt.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Anyway. Then there’s this guy Mister Darcy, he's super smart and rich and handsome but also an arrogant jerk who ruined her sister’s shot with the guy she likes-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-but then it turns out this Darcy isn’t as bad as he seems and they get together in the end?” Damian finished.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon frowned. “Yeah. How’d you guess?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“These stories are completely formulaic, and this one is over a hundred years old,” Damian drawled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe, but I still kinda like ‘em,” Jon said. “Wait. How do you know the formula?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I- I dunno.” Damian flushed a little, and shifted his gaze toward Krypto, snoozing in the corner. “Osmosis? English class?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Daaamiaaaaan… Have you been holding out on me?” Jon teased.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay fine, a few years ago I... </span>
  <em>
    <span>may </span>
  </em>
  <span>have watched sixty-seven different rom-coms when I was working on my social skills. Complete waste of time,” Damian grumbled, all flustered and pouty. “Okay? Happy now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon grinned. “Very.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well?” Damian asked impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to press play before sunrise?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure?” Jon double-checked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” Damian resigned. “Anything to get my mind off that </span>
  <em>
    <span>disaster</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a couple hours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You… wanna talk about it?” Jon offered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kent. What did I just say?” Damian growled, slipping into his Bat-voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay.” Jon hit ‘play,’ and as the movie’s soothing piano washed over them, something occurred to him. “Hey, wanna share-?” Before he could finish, Damian moved the bowl of chex mix from the middle of his lap to a spot resting on their adjacent thighs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Jon mumbled. He meant the blanket, but it was fine. It’s not like half-kryptonians actually got cold or anything. It was more than enough to see Damian relax into his resting half-scowl, hear his heartbeat slow down once he knew he was safe and sound- </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait, why isn’t it slowing down?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He showed no outward signs of distress, but, well, that was just typical Damian… And he just said he wouldn’t talk about it, so there was nothing left to do except sit back, sip his milkshake, and watch the movie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still. Jon couldn’t help glancing back at his friend here and there- no more than a second or three, just long enough to read his expression. It never changed, not even once. No momentary nods, chuckles, thoughtfully furrowed brows- just the same blank face, staring at the screen, set in stone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he- is he pretending to relax?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon wondered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did he see back there? What isn’t he telling me?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then Damian’s eyes flicked his way-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their gazes met. They froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without breaking away, Jon paused the movie in the middle of the Netherfield Ball, during Lizzie’s dance with Mr. Darcy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the pause?” Damian asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you watching?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve seen it before.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tt. So that’s a no.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged. “So what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’ve been watching me instead of the film. And quite frankly, that’s been bugging me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. I’ll stop.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Damian grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why stop?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Why did you keep looking back at me in the first place?” Damian pressed, fighting to keep his voice down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m worried about you, okay?” Jon said a little louder than he meant to. “You’re clearly not okay, ‘cause if ya were y’wouldn’t’ve asked to come over in the first place!” In the corner, Krypto woke up from his nap and yawned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But I TOLD you I don’t want to talk about it yet!” Damian shouted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I KNOW! And that’s what’s so frustrating!” Jon snapped back. Krypto wandered over and sniffed around. A moment later, it clicked. “Wait. Yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yet,” Damian repeated with a sharpened </span>
  <em>
    <span>tt,</span>
  </em>
  <span> reaching for his milkshake again. He sucked in nothing but air through the straw- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ffupffupffupffupffupffup.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m going to tell you, alright? But you can’t expect me to just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come out</span>
  </em>
  <span> right away with something that made me…” He averted his eyes and half-whispered, “you know... you saw.” The dog hopped up on the couch next to him. Damian’s hand instinctively reached over to scritch him between the ears and under the chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah… I saw.” Jon gave Damian’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Hey, look- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, and I didn’t mean to get so worked up, but…” He blew a breath that faintly whistled. “...yeah. Sorry for worrying.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No- thank you,” Damian said. “I don’t say it enough, but I’m… I’m glad that you’re, um…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...here?” Jon guessed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon slapped him on the back. “Hey, what are best friends for? Target practice?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian looked back up and smirked. “Only on Tuesdays.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aaaaaaaand he’s back folks!” Jon hollered at no one in particular. “Say, Krypto, I was gonna give him the rest of my shake to make him feel better, but he seems fine now. Whattaya think, boy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“rrrRUFF!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gimme that!” Damian said, reaching over and grabbing the jar off the coffee table where it rested, one third full. The blanket fell behind him with the sudden movement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! I hadn’t made up my mind!” Jon protested.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Too late! Mine now!” Damian took a loooooong sip. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I drank from that first!” Jon countered, snatching it back. The straw Damian held defiantly in his mouth for a second, before he quickly plucked it out and licked all along the shaft to avoid dripping on the couch. Meanwhile, Jon took another long sip straight from the jar, reclaiming what was rightfully his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s when the front door opened, and closed behind Lois Kent. “Hey boys, could you keep it down? I heard you two fighting from waaay out in the hall.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked at Damian, deadly serious. “Were we fighting?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian matched his tone perfectly. “No I wasn’t fighting, you were fighting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I sure wasn’t, I was just messin’ around-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I SAW murder in your eyes though-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean you stole my milkshake-!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you gave it to me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I asked for Krypto’s opinion first, which you clearly ignored!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian folded his arms. “How do you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lois shut her eyes and massaged her temples. “Boys.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon scratched his chin in mock contemplation. “Hmm, good point. If anything it’s Krypto’s fault for not giving an answer clearer than ‘ruff.’”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian nodded solemnly. “If only we could know their words.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“BOYS!” she barked. That got their attention. She set her purse down with a thud on the dining room table. “I am TOO tired to deal with this. One. Jon.” He instantly straightened at the mention of his name. “It’s fine for Damian to sleep over, but why didn’t you text me or your dad first?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon twiddled his thumbs. “Sorry. It was super spontaneous and we needed to get cleaned up after patrol, and then this and that…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian raised his hand and chimed in, “I did actually message both of you on MyFace when I got here.” Lois raised an eyebrow and got out her phone to check.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“MyFace? Who the heck uses MyFace anymore?” Jon mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your mum is who.” Damian retorted. “Would’ve texted normally if I had her new number.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lois quickly typed something on her phone, and a chime sounded from Damian’s. “Aaaaand now you do. I was busy at work tonight so I didn’t see it, but you’re off the hook this time. Thanks for trying. Jon, take notes.” She set her phone down on the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian nodded. Jon shivered. Thanks to that mom-glare, he definitely wouldn’t forget next time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Two,” she continued, “Even when it’s spontaneous, I still expect you to honor the usual rules. Which are…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let you know, keep the noise down, don’t stay up so late we wake up past noon, aaaaand clean up in the morning,” Jon recited with a droop in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” she said with obvious relief. She yawned. “You two do whatcha gotta do. I’m off to bed. Night, boys,” she said, already heading down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Night, mom.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night, Ms. Lane.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So… you wanna finish the movie?” Jon asked at length.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian shrugged. “May as well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But as soon as Jon pressed play, Lois’ footsteps grew louder as she re-entered the living room. He quickly hit the pause button again. “Jon. I am speaking quietly because of the neighbors. But there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>purple slime</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the bathroom, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>It. Is. Moving.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon winced. “Ooh, yeah, that must be from Plasmus. We were fighting a Brotherhood squad-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mop. Now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Technically it’d be better to use freeze breathe to-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Now,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she barked in the most commanding voice possible while remaining conscientious after midnight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oop.” Jon bounced to his feet. “I’ve already seen it so you can watch without me,” Jon said, in a rush to clean up the mess they’d made. He was off like a shot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lois sighed and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “I did not endure sixteen hours of finance fact-checking to come home to… </span>
  <em>
    <span>that."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Apologies. Maybe we should’ve hosed off somewhere on the way. Or dipped in the Bay,” Damian suggested. “Should’ve thought of that earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, hindsight is 20/20,” Lois replied, easing into her favorite second-hand recliner. “But then there’d be sea water all over the apartment and-” She groaned. “I can’t believe I just favorably compared living slime to sea water."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They heard crashing, banging, and yelling sounds emanating from the bathroom. “I’d imagine either would wreak havoc on your damage deposit,” Damian said evenly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“True, but at least the water would be easier to explain to the building super. ‘Oh, my son and his friend went swimming and tracked it all over the place.’ Couple holes, but at least it's plausible. Near as I can tell, the only way to explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> damage would be a fistfight or a literal shitstorm in there.” She thought for a second. “Hey, actually, would you mind-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope, say no more,” said Damian.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You sure? I got a bag of those maltitol gummy bears as a gag gift a while back and they're actually-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Absolutely not."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fair enough. I was just joking anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tt. I never understood why some people find filth funny."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Eh, I lied. I don't really get it either." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon cautiously entered and cast a searching gaze about their tiny bathroom. Their uniforms lay in a crumpled heap in the corner by the door, right where he'd left them, but they looked suspiciously clean… </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With his x-ray vision he spotted the amorphous blob of plasma lurking behind the dryer. So he lifted it, letting the vent pipe fall off with a rattling crash.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But before he could fully register the blob’s position it ducked behind the washing machine. "Hey!" He set down the dryer with a THUD, then with a great deal more care he unhooked the washer, "Oh NO you don't!" lifted it, and instantly blasted the space behind it with his freeze breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He caught a small chunk of it the size of a marble- better than nothing. But the rest of it slithered up the wall and launched itself at his face. “AH!” he yelped, temporarily blinded by the too-familiar sting of ooze in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon activated his heat vision. The ooze bubbled, popped, and exploded, coating every surface in the blast zone with a thin patina of Plasmus mist, which slowly but surely congealed into miniscule bloblets all over the bathroom, inching their way toward one another. And he accidentally left a burn mark on the ceiling. Great.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed and gently froze every inch of ooze he could see, before the mini-blob could reconstitute itself into a real threat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t all that different from when they fought the full-sized Plasmus earlier, actually. Except that he just blew off a little face-grab instead of half-drowning in a mountain of squelching, squirming sludge, coughing and gasping for air while Robin collapsed on all fours on the other side of the bank lobby, shaking in all-consuming panic-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon would never forget that scream. A voice normally so calm, so confident, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fearless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in a heartbeat reduced to the most wretched wailing and whimpering he’d ever heard. And the things Phobia made him see when she got inside his head, too… he really thought- it was just so- he couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the movie’s volume lowered (per Lois’ request), Damian could hear faint, muffled sobs emanating from the washroom down the hall; his hands involuntarily balled into fists around the folds of his blanket. Jon was </span>
  <em>
    <span>crying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But then the vents flipped on, drowning his friend’s tears in that irritating drone. He was crying, but… trying to hide it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Damian wondered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m worried about you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon had said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Could it be that Jon was so worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he’s actively hiding his own wounds? Why? He might think he’s being considerate but that’s- that’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>right!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But still, Damian suppressed the urge to check on him. Because, like it or not, the fact that Jon chose to conceal his feelings meant that he wasn’t ready to talk, either. And if Damian were to ignore that, it would be hypocritical to say the least. So he stayed put- and felt his throat grow just a little bit tighter. He stole another sip of Jon’s milkshake. Then set it down with haste, a little further from himself than before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Jon finally emerged victorious, Plasmus’ residue safely sealed and labeled in the freezer, he found Elizabeth Bennet touring Pemberly on the TV, his mom fast asleep in the recliner, and Krypto snoozing with his head in Damian’s lap. Jon gently floated over the back of the couch to reach his seat without disturbing anyone. “Hey,” he whispered. Jon reached for his milkshake to take a sip. The jar was empty. Fair enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian grunted to acknowledge his presence, but otherwise focused on the movie: on Lizzie’s absolute astonishment at the opulence on display in Mister Darcy’s estate, to say nothing of the numerous immaculate representations of the masculine form littered about the place. He'd been practically alone for the past forty-five minutes or so, but like before, he was as stone-faced as the statues Lizzie gawked at. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon smiled and stage-whispered, “I love this part. You can really see in her eyes how much she’s falling in love with him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“More like falling for his money,” Damian said in not a whisper, but a very low register.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tt. She’s not really admiring him. She’s only ogling his stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, bet?” Jon rebuked, coming out of his whisper. “She’s seeing a different side of him that hadn’t come up before. Now it looks like they have more in common they can talk about. Art an' history an’ stuff. I thought you of all people would appreciate that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you're saying she’s seeing the potential for what could be if she gave him a chance and got to know him?” Damian pondered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm.” He took a second to ponder. “Still not convinced.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait a sec, you’ll see- ooh, here it comes!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The characters on the screen started talking again, so the boys went quiet for a while to pay attention. Or at least try, at any rate. But while they passively watched Elizabeth Bennett resolve her differences with Mr. Darcy (occasionally munching a handful of the steadily dwindling chex mix), they each stewed in their private thoughts and wondered what would come next. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian and Jon worried about each other- this was a fact. They both knew that the other wasn’t ready to talk, so it might be better not to say anything. Yet still they each held onto their own feelings, their own fears, a mirrored burden that weighed more with each passing minute. And it would be wrong to weigh the other down with it- especially tonight. So their tired hearts ached alone. With every stolen glance at a friendly face lit only by the television’s glow, they could only wonder what the other might be thinking. Their eyes met a few more times. But each time, they said nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>(At some point, the music got loud enough to wake Lois, so she blankly shuffled off to her room.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The movie was supposed to be a distraction to get their minds off things. It hadn’t really worked. But when the credits finally rolled down the screen, they felt like their best course of action was to pretend as if it had.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was the first to break the silence, turning on a nearby lamp before shutting off the TV. “So, uh, what’d you think?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian sighed, setting the empty snack bowl on the coffee table. “It was… alright, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just alright?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t hate it. It’s good. What do you expect me to say?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, I just thought, maybe you’d see... what I saw.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Which is…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged in a slumped sorta way. “...Us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Damian furrowed his brow in concentration. A truly curious comparison. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shifted to push himself off the couch. “You know what, it’s kinda stupid, never mind, I shouldn’t’ve mentioned-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I think I see it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thank Rao humans couldn't hear his heartbeat, 'cuz it was off to the races. “You do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Damian paused, gently brushing his fingers across Krypto’s fuzzy scalp as he chose his next words carefully. “Like you said before- it’s about moving past a terrible first impression to see the person underneath. Or at least, who they’re trying to be...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon clasped his hands and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his lap. He began to sweat a little- was it getting hot in here? “Yeah, that’s it. Well, that and seeing them both owning up to their mistakes and showing real growth before-” He choked on his words, stared at his feet. “...you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm.” Krypto yawned under Damian’s hand. “I think I can see why you consider it one of your favorites.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sighed. “It’s… also one of the things I love about you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian’s hand went rigid. His fingers curled and dug into Krypto’s skin. The super-dog was invulnerable, of course, but that didn’t make it </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so he instantly roused himself, hopped off the couch, and left the living room. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s eyes widened. He raised his hands defensively “Uh-! Just the uh, the growth, thing? I always-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-kind of admired that about you-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That tracks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-and I just- is this weird? This is weird.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Jon in an awkward side-hug. Jon was stunned; Damian almost never did things like that. And whenever he tried with him it was always met with grumbling resignation at best. Violent reprisal at worst, but to be fair that was years ago. But now Damian’s arms around him were snug and warm and without thinking Jon wriggled his own around to pull him in closer. “Damian…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Damian mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What for?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And whose fault is that?” Jon quipped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Damian shoved himself away. “Never mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait- that’s not what I meant-!” Jon wanted to hold on; he could’ve, if he tried. But he let go.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It's late. We should get to bed,” Damian said, scooping up the blanket and moving throw pillows around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we please talk about this?” Jon begged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There is nothing to talk about that cannot wait ‘till morning,” Damian coldly replied.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… if you’re sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m quite sure. Mind moving so I can spread the blanket?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon readily complied. “Taking the couch?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian immediately set about brushing crumbs off the cushions. “Tt. Where else would I sleep? The floor?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um… yeah…” Jon circled around to lean on the back of the couch, somewhat puzzled. Damian used to insist on sleeping in the same room when they were together, even if it meant him having to take the floor. “...something about staying prepared for ambushes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tt.” Damian grunted as he worked, shaking the blanket free of any remaining snack detritus. “Is that really what I said?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I could make something like that up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose,” Damian began, spreading the blanket and tucking one edge into the couch, “it would seem a sound strategy out in the field, exposed to the enemy with no shelter. But here, we are not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded, understanding. “But sometimes a kid needs more than just shelter to feel safe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a child anymore,” Damian snapped</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded again. “Fair ‘nuff. But-” He yawned, covering it with one hand. “-yer not foolin’ anyone, D.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tt.” He slipped under the blanket, pulled it close about him, leaned back against the mound of pillows he’d created, and closed his eyes. “Get the lights when you’re done out here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. Need anythin' else? More blankets? Better pillow…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is fine. Go to sleep, Kent.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“M'kay. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” Jon switched off the lamp and turned away toward his bedroom, but before he wandered off he made a point of adding, “Good night, Damian.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And when Damian grumbled “Good night” in return, that made him smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without making a sound Damian bolted upright, drenched with sweat, just as he had hundreds of times before. His breathing was at first erratic, but as he came to his senses it slowed to a steady, deliberate crawl. He was used to this. This night was nothing special.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Except… it was. For here, in this place, the phantasms that so persistently haunted him held no real power. Because Jon was here, just a wall away. Jon, the one with the power to lay all his fears to rest if he could only just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. For years now they’d fought each other, fought together, studied and trained together, </span>
  <em>
    <span>been</span>
  </em>
  <span> together. Jon was his best friend. His partner. His greatest weakness, but also the source of his strength. If Damian could trust anyone with anything, it would be him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least, that's what he told himself, over and over again, as he made his way to the kitchen; fetched himself a glass of water; sat down at the table; and sipped. He wanted to believe it. He needed to. He had every logical reason to. Jon had even said as much, himself. It wasn't nearly the stretch of the imagination it felt like. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't… and yet...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian shut his eyes, clenched and unclenched his fists, focused only on his body, only on the things he could control. Fear did not rule him. It supplied useful data, that was all. But there were other sources that were often more reliable than fear; and ultimately, all that data was still his to do with as he wished. He was still fully in control.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He swigged the rest of his water in one go, wiped his mouth on his (Jon's?) sleeve, and got up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you need anything, you know where to find me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That's what Jon said. Whether that included in the middle of the night when they were supposed to be asleep was unclear, but screw it, Damian wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. His feet carried him to Jon's door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He found it wide open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Gently, he knocked twice. "Jon?" he whispered. "You awake?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian heard no reply from the darkness within, but he did hear a rush of wind and traffic noise that could only come from outside. Cautiously he stepped into the room. "Jon?" he whispered again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He checked the bed. Empty. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He ran to the window. Open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned half his body out, looked up to the sky, then down at the streets below. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His heart began to pound. His breathing hitched. No no no no NO no no-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Damian?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s voice. Behind him. (And the sound of a toilet flushing- ah.) Damian turned around. There he was, standing in the doorway, moving toward him-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What're you doin' over there?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I, uh, the door was open and you were gone and the window- why's the window open?" Damian sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I dunno. Gets hot in here," Jon said, reaching up to pull it down. (Damian quickly sidestepped to make way.) </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fffffffffffpp.</span>
  </em>
  <span> "Need somethin’?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I dunno." Damian hadn't really thought this far ahead. "Do you-? I mean I- thought I heard you crying earlier, so..." He shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon smiled. "We're doin' this right now, then?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't mean to bother you. We can just go back to bed if-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Nah, I wasn't sleepin' anyway." Jon sat down on the edge of the twin-sized bed and switched on the lamp on the nightstand, suffusing the room with a cozy golden glow. "Guess rule number three's shot."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon's alarm clock read 3:48. "May be," Damian chuckled, sitting down to his left- despite the perfectly viable desk chair nearby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Morning can't come quick enough for ya, eh?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Technically it was morning when we came in, so that doesn't really matter." </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Humbug. We both knew what you meant."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tt. Fair enough."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hm?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What changed your mind?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian pursed his lips. "I… had a nightmare."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Phobia's vision?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian nodded quickly, eyes shut tight, with this pained look on his face that, for once, displayed his thoughts like an open book.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon softly whistled. "Me too. She does not mess around."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No she does not," Damian agreed. "Makes Scarecrow look like a mild headache."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both sat still and silent for a second, giving the other a chance to speak up. Then at the same time- "Did you want to-?" </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You go first," Damian said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, you can go," Jon insisted. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian hugged himself tight. "No it's- argh, it's a little stupid, actually…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon placed a reassuring hand on his knee. "No such thing, okay? If it bothers you, it bothers you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian moved Jon's hand off him, shaking his head. "It's not that simple. Half the fear is what happens after you find out. See the problem?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well." Jon leaned back, propping himself up on his hands. "You just told me half of it, so it can't be that bad."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tt."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon's eyes went up to the ceiling, to his faintly glowing stick-on stars. Curiosity burned his every thought, but he said nothing; if he opened his mouth, he might scare him away again. So he patiently allowed the digital clock's seconds to drift into minutes. He was having just as much trouble articulating his own thoughts, so-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You," Damian whispered to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon whipped his gaze back down to Earth. "Hm?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My vision," Damian explained. "It was you. And Father, and Pennyworth, and Grayson and Maya and everyone I've ever… cared for…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened to them?" Jon asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Nothing. They just… hated me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't hate you, D."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why would you even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I ever could?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Because you don't- you don't know!" Damian's voice cracked. "Everything I've done- you haven't seen- I've… never shown you the real me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon paused. "You mean the old you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No. Well, yes, but…" Damian pulled at his hair. "Aaah it's more complicated than I thought."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry about it. Take your time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. He did that a few more times.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He became uncomfortably aware of the slight squeak the mattress made with every micromovement, every breath even. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He studied Jon's face, waiting patiently, a radiator of compassion- that metaphor sucked, but he couldn't come up with anything better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His mind had never broken like that before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't know that one could shiver when perfectly warm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"..."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Damian began again. “It’s like… the old me? He’s still… </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I still remember everything I did and why I did it, and frankly I haven’t changed all that much. I still </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same things I did back then, for the same reasons. And I’d still do just about anything to get them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Jon asked, almost afraid of the answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian absently twisted the hem of his shirt. “I can’t say.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But… there’s still a part of me that would kill for it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian shrugged, admitting defeat. “If that’s what it would take… maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon thought about that for a second. “I think most people have a part of them like that, actually. It’s only human, y’know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But that doesn’t- you haven’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>the blood on my hands!” Damian held his palms before him, looked with horror and dismay, and closed them into fists. “Not like I have. ”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right. I haven’t.” Jon took one of those fists and pried it back open, gently running his fingers over its many calluses and scars. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>seen these hands coated with paint. Or buried in fur. Or carrying kids out of burning buildings, or dragging me out of the line of fire after I got hit with kryptonite. And yeah, I’ve seen them covered in blood, too- after giving first aid to bystanders in a disaster zone!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian couldn’t look him in the eye. “Tt. Your point?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My point is… I haven’t really seen the old you. You say he’s still in there? Sure. But even if he is, I’ve only ever seen the you that’s fighting him, taking control of your life and </span>
  <em>
    <span>choosing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But I haven’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you have,” Jon interjected. “Even I can see how much you’ve grown just since I met you! Let alone since you met Bruce-!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard,</span>
  </em>
  <span> though,” Damian argued. “I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time, or when I’m doing it right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re still doing it!” Jon insisted. “That’s so amazing, D! And that’s-” he squeezed Damian’s hand, “...kind of, why I love you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian's eyes widened. He slowly withdrew his hand from Jon’s grasp- can’t think-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum-</span>
  </em>
  <span> Two hearts raced. And with every pulse Damian’s memory drifted further and further from the moment those words were spoken. Were they real? Were they imagined? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian bit his lip. "Say it again."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Say what?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I love you." The words just slipped out like that before Damian could catch himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon's lips stretched into a Cheshire grin. "You love me too?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian turned pink and held up his hands defensively. "No I was telling you to- I mean I- wait, back up. When you said you love me," he pointed at Jon, then himself, "what did you mean exactly? Friends? Brothers-in-arms, or…?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon swallowed. No going back now. "I think… that you are the smartest, strongest, bravest, most beautiful person I know, and I want to- to hold on to you forever and never let go."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"...romantically?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon slowly nodded, pursing his lips. "Is… that okay?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian rubbed his eye. "I don't know." Not the kind of answer Jon expected. "I never really gave it a second thought."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait so you- you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> think about it, though?” Jon sputtered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno,” Damian sighed, drew his feet up to the edge of the bed, hugged his knees, and in hoarse half-whispers he explained, “I thought- you couldn’t love me- not like that... That we couldn’t be friends anymore if you found out.” Tear droplets gave his eyes a gut-churning shine. “You were always so kind to me, so forgiving, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good-</span>
  </em>
  <span> too good to be real.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon handed him a tissue. Damian wiped, and blew, and continued.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See? I never even think of stuff like that,” he chuckled. “I- I couldn’t understand why you stuck by me, but now I have no idea what I'd ever do without you." He blew his nose again. "So when Phobia’s version of you found out certain, </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> and turned his back on me, it just… broke me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon wrapped his arm around Damian and pulled him close, gently rubbing his shoulder. "I would never do that to you, Dames. You know that, right?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian shuddered. His stomach did a Flying Graysons routine; this had to be a cruel trick, or a dream that would become a nightmare upon waking. "I… I know." He thought- hesitated- then took a chance, tilting his head to rest on Jon's shoulder. "I know…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon jumped; a minute twitch really, but more than enough to make Damian immediately withdraw, shyly staring at the pattern on the bedspread to his left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you’re fine,” Jon said, “just surprised me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Okay…” He cautiously leaned back in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked down at him and smiled, shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Jon replied. “Just didn’t expect </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I decided to tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What were you expecting?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shrugged his free shoulder. “I dunno. Confusion? Anger? Disgust? A thorough powerpoint lecture on the logistical reasons why we shouldn’t date, completely ignoring the emotions involved? Or… worse…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian snorted. “That does sound like me, yeah… but then why did you tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon took a long breath in, and exhaled for twice that time. “...I watched you die tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A small “oh” escaped from Damian. “Phobia…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded. “And when I tried to sleep…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been there. I still get nightmares about when I died.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t- I was right there and I couldn’t stop it. It was horrible.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? It happened before we met.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My Phobia, not your past.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And when it was over, I knew,” Jon somberly recalled. “There was so much I hadn’t told you, so much we hadn’t done- and either of us could die any day, doing what we do, so-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-why waste another minute?” Damian finished.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm, good call.” He reached his arm around Jon’s back and hooked his hand over his side. “I probably never would’ve said anything if you hadn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon leaned his head against Damian’s. “Then I’m glad I did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a little while. And slowly but surely, Damian felt his anxiety melt against Jon's heat, replaced by some small semblance of security and comfort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At length, it occurred to Damian to ask, “How long have you known?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That I’m gay, or that I like you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Either.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm…” Jon took a moment to consider. “I didn’t really figure it out until I was twelve, but I think part of me always felt that way about you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even the day I kidnapped you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was kind of a weird weekend,” Jon admitted. “I was mad at you, but I also felt like- I dunno, you remember. I always wanted to be friends…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. There was just something about you I couldn’t put my finger on...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian frowned. “So... you fancied me this entire time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“hmmm, maybe? Hard to tell. We were a mess back then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“True…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you know?” Jon asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, like I said I never really thought about it like that, but… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tt.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Damian answered. “I didn’t want to seem weak so, whatever feelings I may’ve had I buried so deep that, now, I can’t tell you when they began if I tried.” He clung to Jon a little tighter. His left hand slowly drifted in that direction aimlessly, unsure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without missing a beat, Jon took it in his right. “What about now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian lifted his head to look him in the eye. “Now?” Unsupported, his knees fell to the side, into Jon’s lap.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. If I went down there with a shovel, right now, what would I find?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian blinked. “I’d laugh at that ridiculous line if it weren’t so adorable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Awn, but I love it when you laugh! You’re like a puppy tasting whipped cream for the first time!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that one </span>
  <em>
    <span>forced</span>
  </em>
  <span> the laughter out of him. “Seriously?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! You never seem to enjoy </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> so when you do it’s like… breaking news!” Jon giggled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But- that’s not true at all!” Damian countered. “I enjoy a great many things: sparring, video games, chess- just winning in general, come to think of it. Uh let’s see, there’s also acting, painting, reading, making music, playing with my pets, and um…” He rubbed lines on Jon’s hand with his thumb. “...seeing you smile.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon had to smile at that. “No fair, I do that all the time!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian grinned back. “I know. I’m a lucky man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See, there it is! And I’d say that makes me at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>ten times</span>
  </em>
  <span> as lucky.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop it, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>having this argument right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh wow two in a row! Should I go buy a lottery ticket?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon</span>
  <em>
    <span> please</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Make me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without warning Damian lunged and planted a long, lingering kiss on Jon’s lips, releasing his grip on his hand to instead brace Jon’s head as he pressed years of pent-up passion into that beautiful perpetual smile. He held until it became necessary to come up for air; but between Jon’s half-Kryptonian nature and his own rigorous endurance training, that turned out to be quite a while. Both boys buzzed with excitement. Like a circuit between them had finally closed and created a magnetic pull which made them inseparable. Of course, that pull was always there, really, faint as it was at the start. It was only a matter of time before their opposite poles would eventually, inevitably collide.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Damian’s hand lingered on Jon’s cheek as their lips finally parted. “Rao,” Jon breathed. “I won.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You still don’t get it, do you?” Damian withdrew his touch, leaving the spot feeling a little cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. “Nothing. I love you, Jonathan.” And then he kissed him again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think down in the comments below!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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